


Mischievous Mistletoe

by Dramione84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramione84/pseuds/Dramione84
Summary: The incessant arguing of the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy and Head Girl, Hermione Granger has landed them in detention in the Room of Requirement.  What happens when the Christmas Decorations band together to stop them once and for all?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [underthemistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/underthemistletoe) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Detention goes horribly wrong when the Hogwarts Christmas decorations band together to stop the incessant arguing of the Head Boy and Girl once and for all.

All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.

Lots of love to my beta x

* * *

 

“That is  _ enough _ !” Snapped Professor McGonagall, her palm coming down hard on the desk.  Glancing around at the portrait of the late Albus Dumbledore, she saw him trying to hide his amusement.  “I suppose you think this is funny, do you? It was your idea to give these two their positions.” She gestured to the Head Boy and Head Girl, who stood before her desk in her office.  “Inter-house unity,” she muttered drily, shaking her head.

“Please, Headmistress…” Hermione began, her voice trailing off as the formidable woman raised her hand wearily.

“I honestly do not know what to do with the pair of you.  You were chosen for this position to be leaders of your peers; a shining example to the other students,” she sighed, pausing to weigh up her options.

Hermione glanced at the Draco, who’s lip curled up in a sneer as he stood beside her, the knuckles of his left hand cracking as they closed in a tight fist.  Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as his provocative stare licked over her.  

Finally, the Headmistress coughed, two pairs of eyes snapping to hers, the contrast of hot and cold, slate and chocolate, meeting green eyes that danced with the same glee that Hermione’s did when she had a plan.  

“You will serve detention tonight, in the Room of Requirement,” she declared, rising from her chair to escort them out of her office.

“The Room of Requirement?” Draco echoed, one of his aristocratic eyebrows lifting in surprise.  “I thought that was destroyed by the  _ Fiendfyre _ ?” he inquired, trying to suppress the small shudder that spidered up his spine as his mind replayed the image of Vincent Crabbe falling to his death.

Coming to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, the Headmistress nodded sagely, understanding flooding from her touch.  “It was out of commission for some time, yes, Mister Malfoy,” she confirmed.  “However, thanks to the goblin contractors, we have been able to repair it.  Six o’clock.  Do not be late.”

Guiding the head students out of the office, she shut the heavy door and sighed, looking up at the leering portrait of her predecessor.

“It won’t work,” his deep baritone snarled, his heavy lidded stare taunting her.

The corners of her lips curled up into a smile.  “It’s Christmas, Severus,” she replied cryptically.

xxXxx

“This is all your fault,” Hermione complained, as they made their way along the corridor to where the Headmistress was waiting.

Draco snarled at her, but said nothing as they approached the oddly jovial Headmistress.  It unnerved him how mirthful she seemed to be at their predicament, a strong sense of foreboding washing over him.

Stepping into the room, they found it had transformed into what at first appeared to be an ordinary classroom with one simple desk and two chairs, rather like the ones in the library.  Upon further examination, however, Hermione found to her delight that it had been decorated in preparation for the holidays, with great swaths of mistletoe, that seemed to glisten in the warm glow of the candlelight, adorning the ceiling.  Turning around, she saw that the doors were framed beautifully with garlands of winterberry, eucalyptus and silver tinsel, charmed with clear twinkling lights.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she gasped, her hand coming up to her chest as she drank in the sight.

“Yes, absolutely sickening, isn’t it,” Draco drawled as he dropped heavily into one of the seats.

Hermione spun around, a retort forming as her tongue sharpened in preparation for their verbal altercation.  A cough behind her doused her rising flames as she met McGonagall’s penetrating stare.  Beside her Draco narrowed his eyes as he looked up at her, perplexed as to her sudden ambivalence.

“You two are to sit here for an hour and contemplate your roles as leaders of the student body and the meaning of the word  _ unity _ ,” the Headmistress declared, emphasising the word unity, her eyes sparkling with something intangible.  Smiling, she left the room, pulling the doors closed with a soft thud.

Huffing, Hermione settled in the seat next to Draco, her arms crossing over her chest as a deep frown creased her forehead.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco muttered angrily, “wait until…”

“My father hears about this?” Hermione chuckled mirthlessly.  “You would think after all these years, you would come up with a new line, Malfoy.”

“My father is dead, so it’s unlikely he will be hearing much of anything,” Draco snapped, venomously.

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she stuttered.  Slate turned to ice as something flickered deep within his eyes.  If Hermione had not been looking directly at him, she would have missed it all together.  Quietly, she wondered if he had briefly allowed her a glimpse into his fractured soul.  

“Is that what the letter last week was about?” she murmured, gently placing her warm hand on his arm, immediately regretting it, his look slicing through her like a dagger as he tore his arm away from her touch as though it were burned.

“I don’t want your pity,” he spat.

“No, god forbid the mudblood should be concerned about the aristocrat,” she hissed, as she forced her chair back violently, the legs cleaving the flagstone open in their wake.  

Above them, the mistletoe started to grow, its tendril like vines working their way down the walls.  

“I never said that,” Draco yelled, pointing one meticulously manicured finger at Hermione, dangerously punctuating each word.

“But it’s what you think,” she accused, as he pulled himself to his full height, towering above her, slate boring into chocolate that swirled with rage, reminding him of Fortescue’s ice creams.

“How could you possibly know what I think?” he sneered, his face dangerously close to hers, their hot angry breath mingling.  He could taste her scent on his tongue as it assaulted his nose.  Stepping back slightly, a deep growl rumbled from his chest as he lashed out destructively, tipping his chair over.

Behind them, unnoticed, the garland was wrapping itself around the door handles, the magic swirling, the charm sealing them inside. Tendrils of mistletoe snaked along the floor, thickening into a natural carpet.  Above them, the plant was thickening, as it worked its way towards them.

Hermione glared menacingly at Draco, her chest rising and falling rapidly as anger surged through her.  She felt her magic tingle and desiderium engulf her senses, causing her to stumble.  Looking sharply up, she felt confusion, previously presuming his demeanour was due to his callosity.  But this was not the Draco she was faced with.  

Slate grey eyes met chocolate brown, warm colliding with cool, as she tried to process in vain.

Tendrils of mistletoe twisted around the legs of the desk, and suddenly, Hermione’s eyes caught the movement around them.

“What the..” her words ceased as she gripped her wand tight, Draco now aware.

“The mistletoe,” he began.

“I know,” Hermione cried, casting spells as they came to her, unable to cease the plants growth.     
“The door,” Draco stammered, as Hermione spun around on her heel.

“Shit,” she breathed, trying everything she could think of.  

Draco gripped his own wand, images of Vincent being swallowed up by the fiendfyre flashing across his psyche, paralysing him as Hermione continued to try everything in her mental magical codex.  They stumbled backwards as the mistletoe closed in on them, until their backs were pressed together, causing the pair to spin around, facing each other, panting.

“Wait,” Hermione declared, “I’ve read about this, in one of Neville’s articles.”

“Figures,” Draco muttered. “Well. out with it Granger, we don’t have all day,” he barked.

“I can’t think with you yelling,” she retorted, eyes screwing shut as she tried to recall what it said.

Suddenly, his lips were crashing down on hers, bruisingly.  Hermione’s eyes snapped open, her palms coming up to shove him away forcefully.

“What on earth are you playing at?” she cried, eyes wide.

“Figured it was worth a shot, considering this is mistletoe, Granger,” he snided.

“That’s it!” she declared triumphantly, as his features displayed his confusion.

“Mistletoe.  Charmed mistletoe.  It’s a rare species.  Look,” she explained, pointing to the pale pink blush of the berries.  “It causes a heightened sense of desire for something you have buried deep within.”

“So how do we get rid of it?” Draco grunted, trying to ignore the feeling that was pooling in his lower abdomen.

Hermione closed her eyes.  “By acting on suppressed desires.”

Eying her cautiously, Draco stepped forward.  

“What makes you think I desire you?” he whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe causing her to shudder, sparking arousal deep within.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open as he drew back, his lips tantalisingly close to hers.

“I couldn’t possibly know what you think, remember?” her challenging tone matching the look in her eyes before they dropped down to the bow of his lip.

His provocative stare bored into her hungrily, the silence between them dragging out into eternity before it snapped, along with their resolve as their lips met once more in a searing kiss.  His tongue ran along the seam of her lip, igniting a fire deep within her as she felt herself throb with desire.  She moaned, causing him to surge forward, his tongue finding its way into her mouth, caressing hers.  With each stroke of the flat of his tongue against the side of hers, she felt herself weaken.  His hands were in her hair, caressing the nape of her neck as she pressed into him, feeling his hardened length.

She tasted like silk and honey; she was fire and he was flood.  Her hands gripped the hem of his jumper, tugging at it, signalling her want.  He responded in kind, breaking the kiss as they tore at each others clothes.  Peeling open her crisp white blouse, he groaned at the sight of her, pressing his cool forehead to her warm alabaster breast, his hand coming up to cup the satin.  His thumb brushed over her nipple causing it to harden and he groaned again.

“You look hot in emerald satin,” he told her, as his teeth found the column of her ivory neck, grazing her skin as he ignited liquid fire with his tongue.  She was white heat and he was ice.

Gently, almost reverently, he laid her down on the desk, his fingers brushing lightly over her mound as she arched deliciously for him. Finding her nub, he teased it with his thumb, before sliding his finger languorously along her slit as she whimpered.

“Please,” she begged, and he willingly complied, groaning as his finger dipped inside her.  Skillfully, he brought her to shattering completion.  She was beautiful and he was flawed.

Unzipping his trousers, she vaguely heard the rustle as the fabric pooled at his feet.  He approached her holy shrine, her gentle sin; opening up her salacious beauty, surging forward to join with her.  They both groaned as they met, her hips canting up to honour him as he sheathed himself in her as one.   His touch, once rough  now tender with mannerly devotion.  They shattered and splintered: breaking apart, coming undone and stitching back together.

Unified.

Spent, they sought refuge in the other, coming down from the euphoria, pressing kisses and ghosting touches over silky skin that glowed.  Soft smiles and casual caresses, they redressed, their hour almost up, the room as it was once more.

“Now what? Where do we go from here, Draco?” Hermione whispered, a soft blush staining her cheeks, as she looked up coyly through her eyelashes.

Draco took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her wrist.  “Unity,” he smiled.  “No more fighting.  With each other, or ourselves.”

Hermione nodded, as he brought his lips to hers once more, pausing a hair’s breath from contact.

“Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled into the kiss.  “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

  
  
  



End file.
